


Hungry Work

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Do not repost, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 15:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18897535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: In which Desmond and Ezio have something of a... communication issue.





	Hungry Work

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Hungry Work](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19432735) by [Borsari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borsari/pseuds/Borsari)



> Proofread by Nimadge, many thanks
> 
> Background music: [Hozier - Take Me To Church](https://youtu.be/PVjiKRfKpPI) and [Everybody's Gone to Rapture soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w40whIS7dNE&list=PLhPp-QAUKF_hRMjWsYvvdazGw0qIjtSXJ)

Okay, this – this wasn't the plan. Desmond can't even remember what the plan was, at this point, but this… this isn't it.

He's leaning his head back in shock, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe, trying to _think_ , trying to swallow around the taste of wine and horror and – and he can't, because his whole body is straining, he's straining, he can't – he can't think, he can't –

 _Oh_ fuck, _that's so good_.

There are hands on his hips, gloved and rough and just on the edge of bruising tight as they hold on, thumbs digging in beside his hip bones while fingertips knead at the flesh of his ass, pulling his cheeks apart and, fuck, he's going to have bruises and he doesn't care, he really should care, but he _really doesn't_. There's a slick feeling, _glorious_ , around his dick, because his dick is being sucked, and he can't even remember the last time he got his dick sucked and –

He's – he's gotta focus, he should, this wasn't the plan and –

The noise – fuck the noise Ezio's making. It's obscene, he's _humming_ deep in his throat, around Desmond's cock, wet and choked and low and every so often there's this – this _squelch_ as he pulls back a bit and pushes back in, it's terrible, the sound Ezio's throat makes, the guy has to be doing it intentionally – that, and the little moans and the growls and –

Desmond winces, as Ezio pulls away, all the way, tongue laving wetly on the underside of his dick, catching on the corona, lips mouthing at foreskin, so fucking _indecent_ – "My handsome dear, why you look away?" Ezio breathes, his voice hot and raw, like _fever_ turned into sound, and Desmond has to look down.

Ezio is drunk, gotta be, his face flushed and wet, his mouth red and swollen, his pupils all blown – the hood of his Assassin's robes has been pushed down and – fuck, Ezio doesn't even have a beard yet, how old is he, twenty, twenty one? He looks so young and so fucking _good_ on his knees there, in the hay, still fully dressed and completely armed and –

Desmond's mouth works, but he can't get a word out, just mouthing at air until finally he manages a choked sort of gasp. Ezio looks at him, low-lidded and heated, and then leans forward to mouth at his cock slowly, kissing it, licking at the head, making a show of it – making sure he watches.

And then, slowly, still keeping eye contact, he takes Desmond in again. That little bit of coolness that had managed to catch on the saliva covering Desmond's dick is overtaken by the excruciating heat of Ezio's mouth and Desmond can't help it – he thrusts, just a little, fucking into Ezio's glorious hot mouth.

"Sorry – I – sorry –" Desmond gasps and then falls quiet as Ezio palms his ass, digs his fingers in, and hauls Desmond deeper, all the way in. And fuck, the feel of it, the _noise_ of it – Desmond chokes out a groan, lifting his hand to bite down on his knuckles, and Ezio _laughs_ around his dick, bobbing his head and _swallowing_.

How the _fuck_ did this even happen? Desmond can't remember – his whole world has condensed into the hot slick suction around his dick and the hands groping at his ass. It feels like he's a rag doll, a toy which Ezio is rolling around as he pleases, and all Desmond can do is go with it and _enjoy._

A gloved hand slides down the back of his thigh, appreciatively groping until it reaches the back of his knee – there's a twist, and then Desmond goes down and into the hay. Ezio's throat convulses around his cock as he follows him down, pinning Desmond and lifting his knee over his shoulder to get deeper into his crotch, growling.

The fingers on his ass aren't even a surprise, somehow – at least Ezio got his glove off. They're dry, curious, feeling around and then disappearing as Desmond winces away. Ezio pulls back with a fucking _slurp_ , grinning as he looks over Desmond's heaving chest and clenching stomach. Desmond opens his mouth to say something – and then doesn't manage it, because Ezio is fucking his own mouth with his fingers, making a show of that too.

Desmond's head – or his heart, for that matter – can't keep up with this shit. His comprehension is just out the window at this point – this has turned from a nightmare into a wet fever dream, and he does not have the ability to make sense of it. His cock is hard and wet and his whole body is quivering, and Ezio is moving over him now, moving to kiss him with his wet, hot, _bruised_ mouth.

Desmond groans, abruptly thirsty and drowning all at once, and leans into it. There's a hand on his dick, gripping at it and pumping – and there are fingers at his ass, still _dripping wet_ from Ezio's mouth and Desmond is angling towards them, spreading his legs, welcoming them. Ezio's playing his body like an instrument, and Desmond can't muster up a struggle against it.

"You feel clean," Ezio murmurs, biting on his neck and chest as he finger fucks Desmond with almost offensive ease and skill – just the right amount of force and give to make it possible, to make him feel every twitch of his fingers. Desmond moans, utterly overwhelmed now, and puts up precisely zero fight as Ezio turns him over, to his hands and knees.

Hot breath on his crack, wet hands on his ass cheeks spreading him apart – and then Ezio is just diving in, skipping appetisers and going right to eating the fucking life out of him.

Desmond clutches on the hay, bows his head and just shakes, his hips moving on their own as Ezio tongue fucks his ass like a fucking pro. And to think he thought this asshole was completely straight, at one point. What the actual fuck.

"The _fuck_?" Desmond mouths into the hay and cries out as Ezio shoves two fingers into him, twisting them around, spreading the spit as much as he can. It feels like _too much_ and yet not enough at all, and Desmond pushes back into it, groaning breathlessly as Ezio takes that move and turns it into fucking him with his fingers, slow and deliberate, drooling on his crack all the while to slick the way through.

"Ready, my dear?" Ezio asks, after Desmond has been finger fucked into a quivering, needy mess. Desmond can't manage more of an answer than a moan and attempt to lift his ass, spread his knees apart. Ezio helps him with a laugh, tilting his ups up, angling him just so and then -

And then there's a dick pushing into his ass, hard, _dry_ and insistent. There's nowhere near enough slick there, but Ezio's not letting up and Desmond is pushing back on him, straining with a cry until Ezio's all the way in – gripping at his hips, palming at his ass, grinding in.

"You have a quite the – a most _lovely_ –" Ezio groans, and then voice breaks into a low moan, and he grinds in even deeper, pulling Desmond's cheeks apart, thrusting his whole body forward.

It's not gentle, what Ezio does – but at this point Desmond doesn't even want gentle, he just wants to be fucked _,_ and that's exactly what Ezio does. There's only a few tentative thrusts before Ezio figures a rhythm – and then he just fucks Desmond, chasing his climax with a fucking _vigor_ – hauling Desmond into every thrust and pushing him back at every withdrawal, making him again into a toy for his pleasure and –

Desmond is very much _cool_ with that – he can barely manage to hold himself up on his knees as Ezio rails him, raw and rough and _perfect_ right there, in a fucking _hayloft_ of some no-name farm. There's nothing left in _existence_ but the drag of Ezio's cock in his increasingly sore ass, the push and pull of each thrust, the glorious, _glorious_ jab of his cock head against Desmond's prostate, perfect, perfect, fucking _perfect_.

His knee slipping under the force of the thrusts, Desmond ends up falling down to his stomach, utterly helpless to push himself up – Ezio's following him down, thrusting heavily and fucking him into the hay. The dry hay prickles on bare skin and smells heavily of – well, _hay_ – and Desmond thinks for a moment of the Farm, a thing from another world, lost and long forgotten – and then Ezio is moving over him, cursing low, shifting him –

Desmond ends up on his side, gasping as Ezio's cock twists inside him – Ezio turns him to his side but stays on his knees himself, one of Desmond's thighs between his legs, the other lifted up and then hoisted over the Assassin's shoulder. Like that, spread at an odd angle, Ezio hauls him in and thrusts right between his spread thighs, deeper than before, and then continues fucking him at this new, deeper angle, graceless in his hurry to get off.

Desmond thinks he's making noise now, sharp cries that are all but punched out of him by each perfect thrust of Ezio's _perfect fucking cock_. Ezio shushes him, somewhere very far away, Desmond can hear how ragged his breathing in, how urgent he sounds – blind, Desmond covers his own mouth, choking against his fingers – and then, utterly counterproductive, Ezio grabs for his dick and begins twisting it in time of his thrusts. He's gasping, Ezio's panting against his knee, gritting his teeth against it, and there's a constant slap of skin against skin –

Fuck, Desmond has _never_ been fucked hard enough for that to happen, skin slapping against skin, honestly he always thought it was fucking _myth_ that you actually could fuck someone that hard, but – oh, fuck, _oh_ –

Ezio fucks him through the orgasm, and then just takes what he needs from Desmond's clenching, shaking body, grinding his own climax in deep and then thrusting in a couple more times for a good measure, to squeeze the last of his come out into Desmond's ass. Desmond groans, oversensitive and breathless, as his leg falls from Ezio's shoulder. His shoulder feels almost as raw as his ass – rug burn from _hay_ , wonderful – and Ezio's still in his ass, the head of his cock just barely hanging on Desmond's clenching hole.

"Now that," Ezio purrs, thrusting his hips in a little – a breathtaking threat of more, even though his cock is soft and slipping out, "that was of _great_ help to me. I very much needed that, and you have been _lovely_."

Desmond moans, feeling a little broken. His brains feel like pudding – he should do something, but – god, he doesn't even want to move. He was supposed to do something, but – Christ, it can wait.

Ezio chuckles and leans in, pressing a kiss on his sweaty neck. "I must be off," he murmurs. "Can you manage? Are you safe here?"

"Ah-hah," Desmond pants, groggy, trying to remember the last time he'd had sex like this. Sometime _never_ maybe? Fuck, it was good. Ezio's still there, pressing kisses on his bare shoulder, humming quizzically. "Oh, _yeah_ ," Desmond groans, stretching. Yeah, he'll feel this for a while.

Ezio chuckles, pressing another kiss to his shoulder and then moving away. There's a clink of something and Desmond swears he closes his eyes only for a moment – just to rest them because they feel dry and he thinks he might've just sweated out all the moisture of his body.

He needs to – to talk to Ezio, say something, but that can – that can wait until he can breathe properly and figure out what it was that he needed to say in the first place. He had something to say, something to ask. He needed Ezio's help or something.

That's gonna be a fun talk, after _this_ , isn't it?

* * *

 

When Desmond opens his eyes Ezio is gone, he's cold – and there's a purse of coins, resting on the hay beside him. It… takes a moment for his brain to catch up with it – with any of it, actually. His ass feels sore and he can feel the dry grit of come on his inner thigh, which is pretty much unmistakeable, and even if it wasn't – there's really no way for his mind to cover up what happened.

"Fuck," Desmond groans and turns to lay on his back. He's still in the hayloft and – not dead, which is a promising start. It's no longer dark – looks like sun's about to rise outside. Ezio is gone and has been for a while, and the money purse is telling.

For a moment Desmond doesn't _think_ at all, running his hands over his face and digging his fingers into his eyes. His head is pounding and his neck feels sore – that's what you get for sleeping naked on pile of hay. He probably has ticks after this or something. None of that has nothing on the feeling of his ass though. Ezio didn't hold much back there, huh.

Desmond shifts where he lays, feeling the soreness spiking and… yeah. Oh _yeah_.

Ezio fucked him.

Yeah, that happened.

Letting out an incredulous laugh, Desmond stretches out his arms and legs, arching his whole body to work out some of the kinks of sleeping in hay off. His body definitely feels well fucked – Ezio might've been… who knows, confused about who and what he was, and maybe there was a language barrier or something? Who knows what, but he'd fucked Desmond good.

Christ, no wonder Ezio has such good relationship with so many prostitutes – if he treats them all like this, hell. Desmond's a convert. Sign him the hell up for more of that, yeah.

Sighing with sated – if sore – contentment, Desmond lets his hands drop before glancing around. There's his clothes in a pile, half hidden in hay. There's the robes too, which he'd been trying to figure out, when Ezio found him. Which… might actually explain how the hell he ended up where he is, actually. He was pretty much naked, about to change, when Ezio turned up.

Could give guy some… ideas probably. Heh.

Cracking his neck, Desmond sits up to investigate the pouch Ezio so _graciously_ had left him. It's… not half bad, actually. Ezio definitely isn't stingy with his whores, it looks like – there's a decent amount of coin there, enough to actually do something with. A bit rude and quick to make assumptions, maybe, but at least Ezio tipped well.

Putting the money aside, Desmond crawls over to the robes on hands and knees. The robes had survived the ordeal, it looks like – Ezio probably hadn't even noticed them. Sitting on his knees – and carefully keeping his weight off his ass – Desmond rummages through them and turns them around until he figures out which way is the front. Then he pauses before pulling it on to check how filthy he is.

Not… terribly, actually. Little bit of dried come on his ass, maybe, but Ezio has almost done him a favour, coming so deep – not much had leaked out. Which, in hindsight…

He still has Ezio's cumshot _in his ass_.

_… yeah._

His whole face burning, Desmond uses his hoodie to clean up as much as he can and then and wiggles into the robes, covering his embarrassed grin under it. The robes aren't terribly comfortable – rough wool, dyed black, a little ragged at the hem. The damn stuff tickles. But at least they're warm – and a little less conspicuous in the 1400s than a white hoodie and jeans. His shoes are still an issue, maybe – his sneakers are red and not much like what people these days wear… yeah probably should get rid of those.

Desmond gathers up the money and his clothes and then gathers up the strength of will to get up. He kind of wants to stay and sleep, but he's in someone's hayloft, and he really needs to find Ezio and maybe whack him over the head with a clue. Not that the night hadn't been nice – he just had some other things he needed too, which he failed to convey before Ezio paid and dashed.

What a gentleman.

After climbing down from the hayloft – much fun, with sore nether regions – Desmond balls up his old clothes and then sneaks out of the barn. It doesn't look like there's too many people awake at the farmhouse, thank god, so there's no one to see him go – or hear him giggling like an idiot at the thought of this being the weirdest walk of shame in the history of walks of shame.

With the use of Eagle Vision, Desmond finds a place to burn the clothes by a little river – the ground there is rocky enough that the fire won't spread, so, picking some bits of driftwood Desmond makes a little pile, bundles up his clothes on top, and sets the whole thing ablaze – sneakers included, because it's just that kind of day.

Barefoot and – well, hopefully not pregnant, that would be bit too weird even for him, honestly. But barefoot and the other thing. It's one _hell_ of a day.

Watching the proof of the 21st century go up in smoke, Desmond considers his options. He can't feel Ezio anywhere near – chances are the guy isn't even in this place anymore. He looked like he was travelling, being in full gear and all, so likely the barn had just been a pit stop. Which… why was Ezio even _there_?

Did the guy have like actual psychic gaydar? _This way to a guy who would be up for a tumble in the hay?_ Well, if anyone had something like that, it would probably be Ezio. Handy – but also not, because Desmond really had something else in his mind, originally… before Ezio had gone down on his knees…

Crouching by the fire, Desmond teeters between laughing and groaning. His ass still hurts – he can't walk normally, that's _fun_ – and Ezio Auditore is a weird sexy disaster of a man. What else is new. "Jesus Christ fucking superstar," Desmond groans, hugging his knees and smothering his hysterical laughter in the robes.

"Hey – hey, brother?"

Desmond almost jumps, lifting his head to see a man by the river bank – heavyset peasant man in rough clothes, floppy dark grey hat on his head. "Oh, hi – um. I'm sorry?" Desmond says and wipes a hand over his face – fuck, there's tears in his eyes, that's great. "About the fire, I mean – is this your land? I apologise –"

"Foreigner…? Are you alright?" the peasant asks, peering at him curiously.

"I'm just fine, thank you," Desmond says, quickly checking that his stuff's burned enough to not be recognizable – yeah, the fire caught on the rubber of his shoes pretty quick. "I'm sorry, I was just – a little cold, so –"

"I see," the peasant says, looking confused. "Well, if you're cold – I have me a house not far from here, warm hearth and everything, if you would like –"

The house, with the farm, with the _barn_ – with the hayloft where Desmond had been fucked by Ezio Auditore?

"I'm good, thank you," Desmond says faintly, trying not to blush or grin or do something stupid like admit sodomy while wearing monk's robes, for God's sake.

The peasant man looks actually a little alarmed now. "Brother, what happened to your shoes?"

They're in the fire, burning. "Um," Desmond says, looking around for excuse – "I don't have shoes?" he offers and stands up – and winces, as the move makes him feel _every inch_ of the space Ezio had so thoroughly occupied the night before. Nice, but also _ow_. "I'm good, I promise – it's fine –"

"But you are hurt!" the peasant man says and ambles over. "Were you robbed? There has been some odd folk about, rumours about hooded men, attacking soldiers – you would think even robbers would leave men of God alone –"

"Yeah, you'd think," Desmond says, grasping at the straw he's been handed. "Yeah – there was – a robbery, yes, and I – lost my shoes."

"You poor thing," the farmer says and clasps him on the shoulder. "Come, come – we will go in, get you warmed up, some food and drink will set you right up. What convent do you hail from?"

"What convent?" Desmond says and then, shaking his head, "Um, I'm not –" no, he's dressed in monk's robes, of course he is. "It's uh – actually, can you tell where am I?"

The good news is that he's not that far from Monteriggioni – which actually might explain Ezio, apparently the fortress is just a little ways from this place. Bad news is, distances are a lot bigger when you're barefoot and there's nothing as handy as motorised vehicles around.

"A day's walk?" Desmond repeat, dismayed. A day's walk and he doesn't even have shoes.

"Just about," the farmer, Roberto, says while ladling Desmond a decent helping of food. "We're a little ways from any convent I know of either. Haven't been much in a way of church folk in these parts in a long time, what with all the fighting and all. And the robbers on the road, too, doesn't help much, that."

"Many robbers around here, huh?" Desmond mumbles, trying not to squirm where he's sitting too badly. Maybe he can steal a horse? Not from these guys too – he already desecrated their barn, and they're being nice to him. The money Ezio left him is probably not enough to buy a horse either...

"Mm," Roberto agrees and sits down across from him. "Been a little better since the Auditore started rebuilding, but it's slow going, and they don't have the men to keep peace hereabouts. Things are still on the restless side."

"Auditore are rebuilding? That's interesting," Desmond says, distracted, wondering how to ask what year is it. Ezio didn't have a beard and he actually seemed younger than Desmond, so maybe… late 1470s, early 1480s?

"You should go to Monteriggioni and inform Ser Mario of the robbing," Roberto's wife, Bettina, says earnestly. "He has some mercenaries, maybe they can chase the ruffians down."

Desmond nods. That was probably where Ezio was heading. Or where he was coming from. But, yeah, Monteriggioni is probably his best bet at this point… awkward relations aside. "That's a good idea," he says. "I think I will. A day's walk, though…"

"I can take you there in my cart – I have a delivery to make, at any rate," Roberto says, glancing at Desmond's feet. "I think there is a doctor in Monteriggioni now, maybe he can do something for your leg."

"Yes, my leg," Desmond agrees, trying not to grin embarrassedly. Because that's why he's limping, yep. "I don't know how to thank you. I have some money –" he stops. He's supposed to have been robbed. Can't even keep a fucking cover story straight, can he?

Being a disaster runs in the family huh?

… Bad thought, with – yeah, no, let's not go there.

Roberto gives him a sympathetic look, utterly oblivious to Desmond's internal squirming. "Don't you worry none, Brother," the farmer says and clasps his on the shoulder. "Even if you weren't robbed, I wouldn't ask a man of the cloth for payment for what's a trivial favour at most. Eat up and I'll take you to Monteriggioni and hopefully Ser Mario can help you out."

"Right," Desmond says. And maybe ground could eat him up on the way, that would be nice too. "Thank you so much," he says, guilty. "It's really too kind." With any luck, Ezio will be there too, and maybe this time they would actually manage to _talk._ And if not, then…  then Desmond has no idea what. He'd burn that bridge when he got to it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna continue this, worked this idea into another story, sorry. The vibe here wasn't what I wanted. Gonna leave this up tho, because... yeah. Haha. Sorry.


End file.
